


In The Circle

by 2honeycomb_curls2



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Badass Kyle Broflovski, Daddy Issues, Depressed Stan Marsh, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Roller Coaster, First Meetings, Getting Together, Goth Stan Marsh, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Jersey Kyle Broflovski, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slutty Kyle Broflovski, Strangers to Lovers, Therapy, anger issues, implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2honeycomb_curls2/pseuds/2honeycomb_curls2
Summary: Cartman's antics have always caused problems for Kyle, but this time they've landed him in mandatory group therapy sessions, where Kyle meets a dark haired boy with sad eyes and a cheery smile.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 25
Kudos: 103





	1. Bad Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter story on this site. I don't tend to do these because I suck at updating and never know how long a chapter should be but... wish me luck.

It all started with Cartman. 

Of course it started with Cartman. No-good, filthy, racist, insensitive, bigoted, homophobic, good for nothing Cartman, and his dirty little rumors. He was always at the root of Kyle's problems, so of fucking course he had been the one to start the rumor that Kyle had made out with one of his teachers, taunting Kyle until he finally gave in and kicked his sorry little ass. Cartman ended up with a busted lip, chipped tooth, and broken nose, and Kyle had been saddled with a diagnosis of intermittent explosive disorder, which was total bullshit, but nobody would listen. 

That was how Kyle had ended up in the passenger seat of his mother's SUV on a Wednesday afternoon, being helplessly driven towards his impending doom.

"I still don't understand why I have to go." Kyle all but pouted. "I don't need therapy."

"Kyle, we've been over this. Whether you believe you have issues or not, you need help. This group is for people your age. I'm sure you'll fit right in."

Kyle scoffed. "No fucking way I'm gonna fit in with a bunch of emo losers who think they're depressed."

"Watch your language!" Sheila scolded before glancing over at her son and sighing. "I know this is hard for you, bubi. But I'm your mother and I have to make the decision that's best for you. And I really think this could help you."

"I don't need help!" Kyle argued. "I don't have anger issues. Cartman is just an asshole."

They pulled up to an old building, a sign above the door reading 'Child and Teen Mental Wellness Center.' The term mental wellness was so cheesy Kyle almost gagged.They entered the building, Sheila leading Kyle to the desk at the front of the lobby where a petite blonde woman sat, typing away on a computer. 

"Excuse me." Sheila said with a polite smile. "My son is here for group therapy." Kyle rolled his eyes and huffed.

The woman smiled at them. "Wonderful. And which doctor is leading the group?"

"I believe it's a Dr. Sanderson?" Sheila answered, drumming her manicured nails along the top of the desk.

"Ok, Dr. Sanderson's group is in room B27. It's just down that hallway." The woman informed them, pointing down the corridor to her left. "Group sessions last an hour, so you'll be able to pick your son up at five-thirty. I just need you to check him in, and while you're doing that your son can go ahead and find the room." She chirped, handing Sheila a clipboard and pen, smile still plastered on her face.

"Alright, Kyle. I'll see you in an hour." Sheila said solemnly, taking the clipboard and pen. She eyed her son warily. "I love you."

Kyle sighed. "Love you too, Mom." He muttered, giving her a halfhearted smile before turning and making his way down the hallway the woman at the desk had gestured to.

When Kyle found room B27, it was almost exactly as he pictured it. The room was empty except for a circle of metal folding chairs in the center of the room. The walls were painted white and the carpet on the floor was an ugly but not off-putting light green, and the whole room looked a little soft under the flickering fluorescent lights, most of the light in the room coming from the large window opposite the door.

Kyle sighed, taking a seat in one of the empty folding chairs. As the circle began to fill up with kids about his age, some of them a little older or younger, he looked around at all of the teens sitting around him. Most of them seemed fairly normal.Kyle heard somebody settle into the seat right next to him, turning to see a dark haired boy decked out in all black, ripped jeans and a cropped t-shirt under a thigh-length unzipped hoodie. He was even wearing eyeliner, for god's sake. This was the whiny emo kid he had been complaining about to his mother, Kyle thought.

"You're new here." The boy said casually, as if that was equal to a simple hello. The boy's crystal blue eyes had a hint of sadness to them, but there was a lazy smile on his face, so Kyle figured that was just how they looked. That just as well, since the sadness suited him just fine. "What're you in for?" The boy asked jokingly.

Kyle scoffed. "Nothing. I don't even belong here. It's a bullshit diagnosis." 

Stan quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, dude. Sure. That's what like, half the people here say."

Before Kyle could respond, a woman with grayish-chestnut hair strolled into the room, effectively silencing the teens with her mere presence. She took a seat int the empty chair closest to the window. "Hello there, everyone. How are we doing today?" The woman, Dr. Sanderson, Kyle presumed, was wearing a navy blue blouse and flowery pencil skirt, the look completed by the casual smile on her face. "We have a new member joining us today, so to introduce ourselves to him we're going to go around the circle and say our name and our diagnosis. If you're not comfortable sharing your diagnosis, you can substitute with a fact about yourself. Kyle, why don't you begin?"

Kyle stood up begrudgingly, trying to ignore the fact that everyone was staring at him. "My name is Kyle. I was diagnosed with intermittent explosive disorder." He said, trying not to talk too quickly.

,

"Thank you, Kyle. Next." Dr. Sanderson said happily. The girl sitting on Kyle's left stood, smiling at the group. "My name is Luna and I have an anxiety disorder."

Everyone went around the circle, saying their name. Most people included their diagnosis, a handful of them opting instead to say their favorite color or food or something. As everyone in the group shared, Kyle noticed the dark haired boy whispering back and forth with the girl on the other side of him, who dressed just as emo as him. When it was her turn she stood with a roll of her eyes. "My name is Henrietta. I got diagnosed with a stupid eating disorder." She basically sighed the words.

As she retook her seat the boy with pretty eyes stood. "Hey. My name is Stan, and I have clinical depression and alcoholism." He sat again, glancing at Kyle and offering up a crooked grin. Kyle shifted in his seat.

The rest of the session was fairly boring. Dr. Sanderson talked about some methods for controlling your feelings or some shit like that, as Kyle made a point of rolling his eyes at the end of every sentence she spoke. When it was nearing five-thirty, with only ten minutes left to go, she clapped her hands together. "Alright, everybody. I think this was a good session. Free time!"

Most of the teens got up from their seats, forming little groups together and talking among themselves. Kyle sighed, expecting the boy beside him to talk to the other girl, Henrietta, but instead Stan turned towards him, and Henrietta got up to go do something else. "So." He said, leaning in as if he was about to share a secret. "How you liking group so far?"

Kyle shrugged. "Like I said, I don't really need to be here."

"So why are you here?" Stan asked, with a glint in his eyes.

"To make my mom happy."

"Well, duh." Stan quipped simply. "We're all here to appease our mothers. What did you do to get your mom on your case in the first place?"

Kyle snorted, although Stan hadn't said anything particularly funny. "I broke this asshole's nose, so now everyone is convinced I have rage issues."

"Ouch. Why'd you do that?" Stan asked seeming genuinely interested. 

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. "He spread some rumor around school that I made out with my teacher, which evolved into a rumor about me sleeping with said teacher, and then everyone in school thought I had slept with the entire faculty before I even got wind of the original rumor." He explained.

"So did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Make out with the teacher." Stan asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

Kyle grinned for the first time in days. "Fuck no, dude. But I uh- I did sleep with her son."

Stan chuckled. "Damn, Kyle. You don't strike me a someone who's into guys, but it definitely makes sense."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kyle asked a little defensively, not sure how to interpret the comment, especially just outside of a small town in Colorado. 

"Easy, killer." Stan held his hands up defensively, but the simple smirk never left his face. "No judgement on my part. I swing for the same team. After all, being straight is so conformist." He chewed his lip thought fully before leaning in and whispering "Don't tell Henrie I said that."

"No worries." Kyle reassured him.

"I stand by my original statement, though. You don't strike me as gay. The accent threw me off a bit. Where you from?"

"Jersey." Kyle answered. "Moved to Colorado when I was thirteen, though."

Stan stuck out his tongue playfully. "Jersey, huh? No offense, but... eugh." 

"Back, off toots. This little sect of mountain towns ain't too great either." Kyle said, a little defensive of his home. Stan just shrugged.

"Gonna have to agree with you there. The whole country is shit, if you ask me. If I ever get out of here, I'm going to Amsterdam."

"Amsterdam, huh?" Kyle said thoughtfully. "That doesn't sound too shabby."

When group was dismissed and Sheila asked Kyle how it was, he thought of Stan, staring at him with bright blue eyes, and informed her that it actually wasn't as bad as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter! It's a little longer than I hoped, but the rest of the chapters will be shorter. Also, I didn't realize that Sanderson sounded familiar because it's the name of the witches in Hocus Pocus until I finished the chapter, but I'm too lazy to pick another name so forget that.


	2. I Want You To Want Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of alcoholism and past hospitalization

If there was one thing Stan hated in this god forsaken world, it was Wednesdays. Wednesdays were his designated group therapy days.

However, as of late he'd been especially eager to attend his sessions, which of course made his mother gush about how proud she was of Stan for finally taking some initiative and trying to get better. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was only excited because he got to see a certain redhead at group.

Kyle had only attended a few sessions so far, but Stan fucking adored him. He liked Kyle's hair, and wondered what it might look like without all that awful gel in it. He liked Kyle's stupid muscle shirts and unbuttoned button-downs, matched with the cheesy gold chains. Stan had never in his life liked the Jersey look, thinking it unbearably trashy, but on Kyle it was just so hot. Stan thought Kyle could probably make anything look hot.

Stan thought about how gorgeous Kyle was as he looked at himself, sitting cross-legged in front of his bedroom mirror. He wondered briefly if maybe, just maybe, Kyle thought he was hot, too. Eventually Stan came to the conclusion that there was no way he found him hot. There was no way anybody found him hot, he reminded himself as he ran a hand through his messy dark tresses. After all, Stan considered himself unbelievably average.

Sighing, Stan picked up his eyeliner pencil from the floor. He traced the makeup over his eyelid, tongue poking out in concentration. Stan groaned as the line came out slightly uneven. No matter how long he'd been doing his eyeliner, he always managed to mess it up. 

"Stan!" His mother called up to him after he had finished doing his makeup. "Kenny is here!"

"Kay! I'm coming!" He shouted back, making a sound of distress as he glanced back at the mirror and realized he still had yet to do something with his hair. Stan grabbed his old black pom hat from his desk, stuffing it over his head before running downstairs to greet Kenny. 

"Hey, dude." Stan greeted, shrugging on his jacket. "What's the plan for today? Stark's Pond?"

"Sure, dude. I wanna get something to eat, first, though. Burger King?"

Stan nodded. "Sure. let me grab my keys."

They headed out and stopped at Burger King on the way to the pond, Kenny getting a burger and milkshake and Stan ordering himself some fries and a black coffee. They parked the car at the pond, eating quietly for a few minutes with the heat running and the radio singing softly, some Cage the Elephant song.

"Dude, are you going to the party at Token's place on Saturday?" Kenny asked, popping one of Stan's fries into his mouth. Stan shook his head.

"Nah, dude. I promised Henrie I would hang out with her on Saturday."

"You could bring her with you?" Kenny suggested.

"You know she's not into that conformist bullshit. And anyway, my mom would flip if she found out I was anywhere near that scene. I'm a recovering alcoholic, remember?" He joked, but Kenny looked at him thoughtfully, concern etched on his features.

"You're not still drinking, are you?" Kenny asked softly, and Stan knew he was trying to be serious. Kenny hardly ever did anything softly.

Stan shrugged. "I have a few drinks here and there. It's no big deal. And anyway, I'm not an alcoholic."

"Your mom seems to think you are." Kenny pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but she only thinks that because she caught me raiding Randy's liquor cabinet."

"Stan. She thinks that because you almost died last year."

The way he phrases it rattles Stan a bit. Sure, he'd had to spend a week in the hospital, but he'd still come out fine. "Dude. I just drank more than I could handle. I didn't almost die."

"Stan-"

Stan sighs, cutting Kenny off. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore, Ken. Let's talk about something else."

Kenny seems hesitant to change the subject, but says nothing more. "Alright. Let's talk about him."

"Who?" Stan asked, tilting his head slightly.

Kenny waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know. Whichever guy you've been fawning over lately."

"How do you know that I've been fawning over anyone." Stan countered, sucking the excess fry salt from his thumb.

"Oh, please. I can always tell when you have a new crush. You walk around smiling like a lovesick fool. Your pupils basically shape themselves into hearts." Kenny grins.

Stan tries to suppress his smile. "There's this dude named Kyle. He's in me and Henrie's therapy group." Stan pauses, pinching his lip. "He's hot. Like, really hot."

"He like dick?" Kenny asked, waggling his eyebrows at Stan, who snorted, punching Kenny in the arm.

"Yeah." He said simply,staring giddily out at the January snow.

"And has he tapped your tight little ass yet?" Kenny asked suggestively, earning an elbow to the ribs from Stan.

"Fuck off, you're so obsessed with my ass."

"Oh, absolutely I am." Kenny fixed him with a lopsided grin. "Marsh, you have about the best ass I've ever seen. I'd die and come back to life for the honor of eating that cake."

Stan scrunched up his face. "My God, you are such a pervert! Stop talking about my ass."

"Would you prefer I talk about your dick?"

"Kenny!" 

Kenny giggled, holding his hands up in mock surrender, the sleeves of his loose orange parka slipping down to his elbows. "Ok, ok. Truce. Seriously, though. You think might get anywhere with this guy? I mean, where is he even from? Isn't that therapy place in like, North Park or something?"

"Kyle's from Denver. Originally, though, he's from Jersey. And I dunno." Stan paused for moment, frowning slightly, "I don't know if I'll get anywhere with him. I hope I do, though, kinda. I don't love him or anything. God, I barely know him but... I do kinda like him. A little." His cheeks heated up as he spoke.

"You should hang out with him outside of group." Kenny said, as if he had made a decision for Stan. 

"What, just the two of us?" Stan said almost suspiciously. "Dude, that'd be weird. Like I said, I barely know him. And he still lives in freaking Denver."

Kenny shrugged. "Whatever. You guys can hang out in North Park, that drive's not too bad both ways. And if it's too weird, invite some friends."

Stan picked at a loose thread in his black jeans. "Yeah, I guess so. But what if he likes me back?" Stan gushed anxiously, his mind suddenly on a new warpath. "What if we start dating or something and my parents find out I'm gay?"

"Dude." Kenny said comfortingly, talking as if Stan was his little brother. "Don't psych yourself out about anything that hasn't happened yet. Anyway, you said it's only a small crush. It's not like you're writing poems about him or anything, right?"

"...Right." Stan confirmed. 

"Oh my God! Stan, you have to let me read it!"

"Seriously, Kenny. Fuck off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little shorter and a little dialogue heavy. Not my best work. Next one is gonna be jam packed with action though.


	3. Crush Culture

"Wait a minute, who even is this guy?" Bebe asked from where she sat on Kyle's bed. "Why are we even hanging out with him?"

"He's from that stupid therapy group I had to join because of dumbass Cartman." Kyle answered, digging through his desk drawers.

"That doesn't explain why I have to come all the way to South Park with you. I hate that hick town." Bebe complained, although she had no intention of passing up an opportunity to spend time with her friend. "And anyway, what are we even gonna do there?"

"We're going to the movies or something." Kyle replied distractedly, still looking for something. "And you're coming with me because Stan is bringing some of his friends, so it'd be awkward if I didn't bring one."

That Wednesday at group, Stan had told Kyle that he and some friends were going to see the new horror movie the two had been talking about on Saturday. He'd asked if Kyle wanted to come, and Kyle had agreed impulsively, figuring it was better than spending his Saturday holed up in Bebe's room watching shitty old romantic comedies that he pretended to hate, so they'd exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up.

Bebe frowned, leaning back on the bed to prop herself up with her elbows. "There's a perfectly good movie theater in North Park." She pointed out.

"Yeah, but Stan said something about going somewhere after that, or something. I think he said he's got good weed."

"Jesus, Ky. Ever heard of burying the lead?" Bebe teased.

Kyle sighed, slamming his desk drawer shut. "Damn."

"What?" She asked, sitting back up to face him.

"I ran out of hair gel last night. I can't find my back up bottle."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Bebe's lips. "I don't understand why you can't just go out without the obscene amount of gel you insist on torturing your hair with."

"Go out with this monstrosity on my head?" He pointed to his curls as he plopped down on the bed beside Bebe. "I don't think so."

"I think they're cute!" She defended, playing with the curls for a moment before her hand was swatted away.

"Alright, alright. Enough with that. I guess just this one time I can leave the house looking like Curly Sue."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You don't look like Curly Sue. She had much darker hair."

///

It took about am hour for them to make the drive to South Park in Bebe's pick up truck, which wasn't the absolute worst, but was enough for Kyle to complain lightheartedly as he met up with Stan outside the movie theater. "Christ on a cracker, toots. That drive took forever. Next time, you're coming to Denver. And I'm holding you to that."

Stan cracked a smile. "You've got yourself a deal." He was with a sweet looking girl with long dark hair and round eyes, along with a blonde boy in shivering an over-sized and too-thin parka, who was looking Kyle up and down thoughtfully, which only freaked Kyle out a little. "Kyle, these are my dearest acquaintances, that's Wendy, and this is-"

"Kenny McCormick, nice to meet ya." The blonde said eagerly. "Stan here has talked a lot about you. All good things, don't worry. He was right though, you're very cute." Stan shot him a nasty glare.

"Uh, thanks?" Kyle said, trying not to blush. "Oh, this is my friend Bebe."

"Hey!" Bebe greeted. "Cool to meet you all. Not to be a drag, but can we go inside? It's freezing out here and I wore a crop top to spite my ex."

"Sure thing. Uh, your ex lives in South Park?" Stan wondered.

"Nope, she's talking about me." Kyle said, rolling his eyes as he followed the group into the building. "And you did not wear that to spite me, Bebe. You wore it because you're a slut."

"You know it." She said affectionately, holding the door open for Kyle, who stuck his tongue out at her as he walked by."

"You two used to date?" Kenny asked.

"Yup, until Kyle here realized he liked the boys on the football team much more than he did me, and left me all alone to fend for myself."

"Shut up, I did not leave you alone, drama queen."

"No fucking way!" Wendy exclaimed. "I dated Stan before he figured out he was gay, too! What a coincidence."

"You're joking!" Bebe gasped, letting Kyle pay for her ticket as she talked. "Oh my God, was it super obvious with Stan, too? Or was that just Kyle? Cuz it was like... really obvious."

"Hey!" Kyle scolded, passing Bebe her ticket.

"Yeah, no. Stan was the same way. He likes to think he's so good at hiding it, but I could definitely tell. I asked him to go down on me once and he threw up."

Kenny barked out a laugh as Stan blushed furiously. "Yeah, Wends, well at least you didn't have to talk him through the sexuality crisis he had after that encounter. The poor man was a wreck after you tried to take his innocence."

"Ok! Who wants popcorn!" Stan asked, clearly trying to changed the subject. 

Wendy grinned, eyes twinkling. "I do! I'll help you carry snacks. Bebe, you wanna come?"

The three went up to the concessions counter, leaving Kenny and Kyle to wait in the lobby. Kyle sighed, looking around the room until his eyes drifted to Stan, taking in his side profile. He gazed longingly at the boy, black locks poking out from under a gray beanie to frame crystal eyes. Kyle let his gaze drift down lower, down to his-

"Stan's got a nice ass, huh?" Kenny whispered into his ear, causing Kyle to jump, whipping around to gape at Kenny.

"I- I wasn't looking at his ass." Kyle spluttered, trying to explain himself, but Kenny only chuckled.

"I didn't say you were. I'm just saying, Stan's got a nice one." Kenny bit his lip, looking Kyle over almost knowingly, in a manner that made Kyle's skin crawl. "You were staring at his ass, though. And you totally have a big gay crush on him." He stated.

"What? No, I do not." Kyle said indignantly. He did not have a crush on Stan! Sure, he liked hanging out with him, and thought he was handsome, and liked the way he smelled, a distinguishable scent that didn't particularly smell like anything but Stan. But he did not have a crush on him.

"Whatever you say." Kenny said, shrugging, easy smile on his face. "Didn't mean to sound like a bitch."

"You didn't" Kyle assured him unenthusiastically, wrapping his arms around himself. "Sorry, you're fine. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"No hard feelings."

"You guys, let's go! Movie's starting soon." Wendy appeared at Kyle's elbow, holding a cardboard cup-holder full of drinks and motioning towards where the theater was. Kyle glanced at the theater door, watching Stan disappear behind it, laughing at something Bebe had said, probably at Kyle's expense. Sighing softly he followed Wendy to the theater, feeling Kenny's gaze on him as he walked.

Once he was situated with everyone in the back row of the theater watching previews, he allowed himself to relax. He was sandwiched between Bebe and Kenny, safely a good distance from Stan. Suddenly Kenny leaned over Kyle, speaking at a moderate volume. "Hey, Stan. Switch seats with me. I wanna sit by the aisle."

"Why?" Stan questioned, looking genuinely confused, but already standing, which sent Kyle into a misplaced panic. Kenny just waved him off, moving past Kyle to take Stan's seat, as Stan squeezed by and- Oh God, that was Stan's ass in his face.

"Hey, dude." Stan whispered, settling in next to him with a lopsided grin.

"H-hey." Kyle whispered back, trying to calm his breathing. It's fine, no big deal. So Stan has a nice ass, So what? Lots of dudes do, it doesn't mean Kyle has a crush on him. He definitely didn't. Kenny just got into his head back there.

"This movie is either gonna be awesome or suck balls. My money's on balls." Stan whispered, flashing Kyle a small toothy grin. 

Oh shit. So, maybe he had a little crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't really been incorporating Stan and Kyle's Jersey and Goth personalities aside from like, how they dress and some ways they talk, but, I think I like this better than what I originally intended. This way they're a little different but it's still the boys. What do you guys think?


	4. Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: alcohol withdrawal, mentions of alcohol abuse/implied suicide attempt

Stan had never felt so shitty in his life, he thinks, and he knows that's not true because he felt exponentially more shitty when he was hospitalized last year, but still, he feels like in this moment this is the shittiest he's ever felt. 

He's sweaty and nauseous, the kind of nausea that doesn't make you vomit but really makes you wish it would so you could just feel better already. His head is pounding so bad he's sure it's going to explode if Dr. Sanderson doesn't stop talking. It takes all his effort not to just close his eyes and curl in on himself.

"Stan, would you like to share?"

"W-what?"

Dr. Sanderson smiled at him sharply from across the circle. "I asked if you'd like to share with the group what progress you've made since our last session."

"Progress?" He repeated, feeling his stomach drop, and he wasn't sure if it was from nerves or just how awful he felt. "Uh, what do you mean?"

"Well, what actions have you taken to move closer to your goal of mental betterment?"

Stan hated when she used words like mental betterment. She may have had a PhD, but that didn't mean she had to talk like she was psychoanalyzing someone every time she opened her mouth. Stan thought back to everything he'd done since last Wednesday, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't be an outright lie. He felt like Dr. Sanderson could always tell when he was lying. 

"I don't know, I guess I've been working towards feeling less stressed lately." That wasn't a complete lie, he just failed to mention HOW he was lowering his stress levels. Dr. Sanderson nodded satisfactorily before moving on. Stan felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. 

A few minutes later Dr. Sanderson glanced at her watch, informing everyone with a small nod that it was free time. Kyle leaned over instantly, worry written over his face. "You ok?"

Stan nodded, although he felt far from ok. He glanced over at Dr. Sanderson before leaning in even closer and whispering, "My mom found out I was watering down my dad's vodka and threw all his liquor out. Even the beer. Haven't had a drink in days."

Kyle looked somewhere between concerned and amused. "I thought you said you weren't actually an addict."

"Jesus, I'm not." He snapped. "A doctor you've met once tells you you've got alcohol use disorder and suddenly everyone's convinced you can never drink again."

"Right." Henrie butts in from where she's sitting beside Stan. "Except you're seventeen, you do have alcohol use disorder, and you're just being a stubborn brat about it."

Stan scowls at her. "I am not! Everyone's just over dramatic."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Kyle sighs. "Well, not to condone your drinking habits, or lack thereof, but if you wanna hang out this weekend to get your mind off it, I'm free."

Stan swallows down the lump in his throat, trying to will away the butterflies in his stomach. It was just a stupid invitation to hang out, it didn't mean anything. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm free this weekend."

"Sweet. You can stay the night at my place, but I ain't driving all the way out to South Park again."

Stan did his very best to crack a grin. "Awesome. Send me your address and I'll be there."

///

Kyle's room was way cleaner than Stan's, who had just a little bit of a hoarding problem and subsequently had collected multiple piles of junk he should've thrown away years ago.

"Make yourself at home." Kyle said, with a vague wave at the room.

Stan sat on the edge of the other boy's bed tentatively, wiping his palms on his black jeans. He was still feeling like crap, but was trying not to make it too obvious. "Cool room. I mean, it's a little conformist, but still."

The corner of Kyle's lip tugged upwards. "Thanks, because I invited you here to get your opinion on my room."

Stan snorted. "Well, obviously. Why else would I be here?"

"You hungry?" Kyle asked suddenly. "We probably have something I could heat up."

"No, that's ok. I already ate before I came here." He hadn't, but the thought of eating anything right now made him wanna turn his entire body inside out.

"Ok. Wanna watch a movie?" The redhead asked.

"Yeah, sure. You can pick."

Kyle ended up picking 50 First Dates. Stan laughed at his selection and was promptly smacked in the face with a pillow. They settled onto Kyle's bed to watch the movie, both actively trying to figure out the right distance to sit at. Stan wondered if maybe he should sit a little farther away to give Kyle some room, but wondered if it would be offensive to move away. Would Kyle think Stan didn't like him? Was this a stupid concern?

He was missing almost the entire plot of the movie worrying about this, but he wasn't paying much attention to Drew Barrymore, anyway. he was paying attention to the body heat Kyle radiated, the way the bed creaked when he shifted, the little delighted huff he pulled at one of the movie's jokes. It was probably far more interesting than the movie, anyway.

About halfway through the movie Stan felt his eyelids growing heavy. He tried desperately to stay awake, not wanting to seem like a loser, but he was so, so tired. He hadn't been able to get a good night's sleep in days. Despite his efforts, he was eventually lulled to sleep by the sound of the movie in the background and Kyle breathing next to him.

///

When Stan woke it was to someone cradling him gently from behind. He opened his eyes to the pitch dark room, the only light coming from the TV, which was now playing some sort of action movie.

Stan felt the arms around him constrict, as if trying to pull him closer. He turned and came face to face with Kyle, who also appeared to be sleeping deeply. His eyelids fluttered momentarily, face relaxed. 

Stan took the opportunity to stare unabashedly, tracing Kyle's face with his eyes. It was too dark for him to make out the subtle freckles splattered across Kyle's cheeks. He wished he could see them, could trace constellations in them. He could probably do that for hours and never get bored.

Kyle shifted beside him, eyes snapping open suddenly and emerald irises meeting cobalt ones. "Hey." Stan whispered.

Kyle smiled sleepily. "Hey. Sorry for like, spooning you." He apologized, but made no effort to remove his arms from where they rested around Stan's waist. "I promise I didn't fall asleep like this."

"Don't worry about it." Stan reassured. "I'm already well aware of your stalkerish tendencies."

Kyle barked out a surprised laugh. "Me? A stalker? You were the one staring at me while I sleep."

Stan was thankful that the dark hid his flushed cheeks. "Well, I was just making sure I had a detailed description, for the police. You know, for when I go and report you for aggravated stalking." Kyle laughs again, their faces only inches apart and his arms still tightly clutching to Stan.

"The police are useless. You're just gonna have to get rid of me yourself."

"Oh? And how might I go about doing that?"

Kyle seems to ponder it, before shrugging. "I have no idea. Guess you're stuck with me."

"There are worse things I can think of." Stan grinned like an idiot. "But then again, you are a Jersey asshole, so."

Kyle scoffs. "I am not. I haven't lived in Jersey in years."

"Yeah, but you still have the accent." Stan teased. "And anyway, you put all that awful stuff in your hair."

"Pfft. Whatever. I hate my natural hair anyway."

Stan gasped in earnest. "Don't say that! I love your curls."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Nobody actually likes this mess."

"I do." Stan said, so honestly that Kyle seemed shocked. "I think your hair is beautiful. I think- you're beautiful."

Kyle breathes slowly, face illuminated by the pale moonlight creeping in from the window. He bites his lip, looking at Stan thoughtfully for a moment, before leaning in and kissing him gently, so gently, that Stan fears if he's kissed by anyone else ever again he'll break.

He'd be perfectly fine with just laying here in Kyle's bed in the dark, being kissed like he was something to be cherished, forever and ever. He only pulls away when he feels a wave of nausea, and he can't be sure if it's a resurgence of his childhood inability to think about his feelings without getting sick or if it's because he hasn't had a drink in days. Either way, he pulls away from Kyle's lips and out of his arms before he has to face something horrifying, pressing his back flat against the mattress and taking deep breaths.

"Stan?" Kyle asks, propping himself up on his elbow to peer at the dark haired boy. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I just-" Another deep breath. "Sorry, nothing to do with you. I just feel kinda sick and I don't think it'd be very cute of me to vomit in your mouth, unless you're into that."

Kyle giggles. "Do you have a fever or something?"

"Nope."

"Ok." Kyle is quiet for a moment, picking at a loose thread in his comforter. "Does this have something to do with your mom throwing out the liquor?"

Stan turns his head to look at Kyle, whose expression is nearly unreadable. "I'm actually not an alcoholic."

"Ok."

"I'm not."

"I said ok."

"It's just that-" Stan cuts himself off with a sigh. "My dad actually is an addict, so, it's usually really easy to steal from him. He just assumes he drank it when he was plastered. Not that he would care, anyway. He's kind of a shitty dad like that. And even when I can't do that, Kenny will steal me some beers from his brother, but he hasn't agreed to do that since last year."

"How come?" Kyle asks, and his tone of voice isn't prodding, or overly concerned. Just genuinely curious. Stan sighs again.

"It's no big deal, but... last year I got drunk. Like, really drunk. And I got alcohol poisoning. And, I dunno, some people thought it was kinda, on purpose. Like. I was trying to..."

"Oh." Kyle says, then pauses. "Were you?"

"I dunno. Maybe." He said quietly. He's not sure why he said that. He's never told anyone that. The answer to the question has always been a strict no, but Kyle feels different. He feels like this moment is safe, like he can say anything, and it won't be real, and so he does. "I'm not happy. Like, not all of the time. But enough. And sometimes when I drink, it makes me happy. But sometimes I go past happy and just get sadder and I do things to try to make the sad go away." His lip trembled.

"That's a lot." Kyle said with the understanding that Stan had been searching for. 

"Yeah." He agreed. "But, it's not a big deal. I can stop drinking any time I want."

"I know. But you don't. Because you can't want to."

Stan stared harshly at the ceiling, refusing to say anything more. Gentle fingers wiped away the tears that he hadn't realized were streaming down his cheeks, streaking them black with the eyeliner he hadn't gotten around to taking off. 

"You should put on pajamas. You're still in jeans." Kyle suggested. Stan just shrugged.

"Can we kiss again first?"

Kyle smiled tightly, leaning in again taking every sorrow Stan carried away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't intend for this to be angsty but halfway through writing the chapter I almost got dumped via text, and then wrote the other half while listening to the Electra Heart album so :/ take it or leave it I guess. Also, Stan has daddy issues simply because I have daddy issues and I am Self Projecting Onto My Comfort Characters. Nothing against Randy.


	5. Liability

Kyle wasn't usually one for hope, especially when it came to his string of luckless romance. Despite this, a tiny little bubble of hope had built a modest home inside his heart, and he was nurturing it, although cautiously. Because he had kissed Stan fucking Marsh, and Stan fucking Marsh had kissed him back.

Of course, they hadn't talked about it. Not when Stan left Kyle's house the next morning, or when they had texted back and forth the entire rest of the weekend, or even when they had FaceTimed briefly. It was a subject to be danced around, but Kyle was thinking about it, and he thought, no, he hoped, that Stan was thinking about it too. He hoped that sometimes, the thought of their lips pressed together in the quiet dark crept into his mind, and his face split into a smile.

Kyle hoped that he was thinking about it constantly, the way he was, in class, at lunch, after school in his bedroom. He hoped that they talked about it soon, and even more he hoped they kissed again soon, if only so Kyle could feel the unadulterated warmth seep into his bones again. Kyle hoped hard and shamelessly that Stan also had a tiny little bubble of hope living in his heart.

The Tuesday before group, Kyle's phone pinged, dragging his attention away from the quiz he'd been studying for. He smiled at seeing that it was a text from Stan, opening the message.

Stan: hey, you doing anything?

Kyle: Not really, why?

Stan: can you facetime

Kyle: sure, dude

A moment later, an incoming call took up his phone screen, and Kyle pressed accept without a single thought. Stan's face made Kyle break out into a grin instantly, for no other reason than for the fact it was Stan. The image of him was low quality, and Kyle thought it didn't do him even come close to doing him justice, with his shiny black hair and sparkling blue eyes. Damn, Kyle was head over heels.

"Hey." Stan says, voice sounding slightly different through the phone, and Kyle thought there was a hint of dread in his voice.

"Hey, dude. What's up?"

Stan doesn't respond for a moment, and Kyle almost thought his screen had frozen before Stan spoke again. "So... I think we should talk, actually. Before I see you in person again. You know, about what happened when I slept over?"

Kyle feels the small bubble of hope swell, stomach doing cartwheels at his nervous tone. "Yeah?" He tried to sound casual, but his voice had cracked.

Stan sighs again. "Listen, Kyle. I really liked, you know, kissing you. Like, a lot."

"Yeah?" Kyle kicks himself mentally for sounding so pleased, trying to rein in the butterflies in his stomach."

"Yeah. Listen, I really like you-"

"I really like you, too." Kyle says, cutting Stan off. "Shit. Sorry. You were saying?"

Stan looks torn, even in the low quality. "That's actually... I was saying that I don't think we should do that anymore."

The bubble of hope bursts, the house it had built crumbling, crashing against his heart strings in the process. "Oh?" is all he can think to say.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lead you on. I just really like you, and I don't think I'm in a good place for anything serious right now. I don't wanna do that to you."

"Stan, it's no problem. I wasn't, like, hoping for a relationship or anything." That's a lie. He'd been hoping for a lot of things, but he should've known better. Hope's never gotten him anywhere. 

"You weren't?" Stan looks hurt at this, and Kyle wonders with distant anger and present melancholy what right he has to be upset by this.

"Yeah." Kyle lies. "Well, you know. It's just a kiss. No big deal."

"So you're not like, mad at me?"

Kyle is more confused than anything. "Um, no, dude. You're fine. Sorry if I made you, like, think you owed me anything."

"Kyle-"

"I actually have to go. Lots of homework. Uh, I'll see you at group tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Are you sure your-"

"Bye, Stan." Kyle says quickly, trying to sound cheery but only succeeding in raising his voice an octave. He hangs up before Stan can say anything else, and is left staring at the still-open textbook on his desk. It seemed stupid now.

He stared in front of him for a moment, wondering what he was feeling. He had no idea. No clue. He just knew that he felt totally, one hundred percent, fucked over. Eventually Kyle opens his phone again, typing Bebe's name into his contacts and clicks the call button. She picks up on the second ring. "What's up, slut?"

"Hey." Kyle says, voice cracking on the word as he bursts into tears.

Kyle hears shuffling from the other line and then Bebe's voice. "Woah, what's going on? Why are you crying?"

"I kissed him." Kyle says unelaborately, trying to force his tear ducts to stop producing tears. "I kissed Stan. God, I'm so fucking stupid."

"What? When?" Bebe sounds like she's trying to play catch-up.

"When he slept over last weekend." Kyle wipes at his wet cheeks. "I should've never done it?"

"So he didn't kiss back?" Bebe wonders, and Kyle laughs humorlessly.

"No, he did."

"So why are you crying?" Bebe exclaims. "Jesus, Kyle, that's a good thing. You've been pining so hard over that emo loser."

Kyle groans miserably, wondering if he could just shut down his organs and be done with everything. "Yeah, uh, but I just talked to him and. He doesn't wanna kiss me ever again? He just wants to be friends So, yeah, not that great, actually."

"Jesus Christ. That's awful."

"Bebe." He whines. "Why doesn't anyone love me?"

Kyle hears Bebe sigh. "Kyle, lots of people love you. I love you. You know that."

"That's not what I mean." Kyle says shakily. "God, every guy I've ever had feelings for has only wanted sex. And I thought... I thought Stan might be different. But he didn't even want that. What's wrong with me, Bebe?"

"Kyle, there is nothing wrong with you." Bebe says in a tone so firm Kyle almost stops crying completely. "You sound like a heartbroken little bitch. And Kyle Broflovski is not a heartbroken little bitch. He's a badass motherfucker."

Kyle scoffs halfheartedly, letting his head fall onto his desk. "So what do I do?"

"I know exactly what you're gonna do." Bebe says, almost theatrically. "You're gonna get over this like the awesome dude you are and move on to the next guy."

Kyle wipes his eyes. "Yeah. Ok, yeah."

Bebe's right. He needs to get over this, and he's going to.

Staring now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyle and Bebe are both bad bitches


	6. We Are Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update is a little sooner than usual but I'm really excited for these upcoming chapters

Stan doesn't know what he expected Kyle to be like when he sees him again the next day, but he definitely wasn't expecting to be in his good graces, but when Kyle walks into group and sits down beside Stan, he doesn't waste any time saying what he wants to say. "Bebe's having a party at her house this weekend, in Denver. I want you to come."

"Y-you do?" Stan stutters, surprised at the invitation. Kyle shrugs one of his shoulders.

"Yeah, man. Bring Kenny, too." His voice sounds cold, as if he's trying to prove something to Stan. 

Stan swallows the lump in his throat. "Ok. Yeah. You're sure you want me to come though?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Kyle asks, as though he doesn't know.

"Well, I thought that you might be mad at me." He says quietly, almost missing the minuscule hurt that flashed across Kyle's face before his stony expression returned.

"Stan, I'm over it." He said meaningfully, as though he really was. "I just wanna be your friend. And I'm inviting you to this party. As your friend. So you and Kenny better fucking come or I'll kick your ass."

Stan smirks despite himself, feeling relief consume him now that the defensive edge in Kyle's voice is gone. "Yeah, ok. When is it?"

"This Saturday. You already have my address, so you guys can just meet me at my house first and then I can drive us to Bebe's."

"Ok. Cool."

"What's cool?" Henrietta asks, hurriedly sitting next to Stan, looking frazzled.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Henrietta scoffs, looking down at her nails blankly. "I got into a fight with my stupid conformist bitch mom. She wants me to go back to inpatient even though I'm doing better."

"Shit, Henrie, that sucks." Stan says, turning to give her his full attention. "Do you wanna-"

"I don't wanna fucking talk about it." She says, fixing Stan with a scornful gaze. "Just leave it alone."

Stan wants to say something, but at that moment Dr. Sanderson enters the room, effectively silencing the circle. Stan bites his tongue and looks ahead of him as she situates herself in a chair. "Alrighty, everyone. Good afternoon. Today, we are going to be talking about ways to build healthy relationships."

///

Stan is an anxious person, and is usually nervous about anything and everything, but he's a wreck as he sits in the passenger's seat of Kenny's car on the way to Denver, and not just because it's a shit car and the chances of it breaking down on the highway are far from slim. 

He's jittery when they pull up to Kyle's house, and Kenny has to tell him to calm down as they make their way to the front door. Stan knocks three times, and they wait for a minute or two before the door swings open. Kyle is wearing a fitting white tank top, and some low rise skinny jeans, and gold chains that would look trashy on literally anyone else. His hair is styled with gel as usual, and- is he wearing fucking glittery eye shadow?

"Hey, dudes. Let me grab my keys and we can head out." Kyle disappeared back inside the house and Stan felt himself start to breathe again.

"You good?" Kenny snickers, and Stan punches him in the shoulder. 

"Shut up, dickwad. I'm seriously gonna fuck your mom."

"Well, you definitely wanna fuck somebody, and it is not my mom." Kenny retorts, narrowly avoiding being slapped upside the head.

"Alright, let's go." Kyle steps out of his house, shutting the door behind him and making his way towards his car as he fumbled with his keys. As Stan watched Kyle walk in front of him, he tried to direct his attention anywhere but Kyle's ass. He was the one who decided they were better off as friends, he didn't get to wish they were something more. For Kyle's sake.

"Dude, your shoe is untied." Kenny tells Kyle casually, who looks down and groans.

Kyle sets his keys down on the hood of his car, bending over to retie his sneaker. In the process, his tank top rides up, revealing a small section of his lower back. Kenny whistles.

"Damn, Kyle! Are you wearing a fucking g-string?" Stan holds his breath, trying with every bone in his body to leave his physical body behind and have his soul go literally anywhere else. 

Kyle looks over his shoulder at the blonde, mischievous smile painted on his lips. "Maybe." He stands up, pulling his tank top back down and grabbing the keys off his car before climbing into the driver's seat.

"You coming?" Kenny calls to Stan, who is still standing dumbfounded in Kyle's driveway, gaping like a fish out of water. He nods, moving distractedly to get into the backseat of the car.

The ride to Bebe's house consists mostly of Kenny and Kyle chatting idly and Stan trying to will himself not to think about stupid Kyle and his stupid fucking g-string. After driving for about twenty minutes they pulled up to a big house swarmed with parked cars and drunken teenagers, shit techno music blasting from inside. 

Kyle somehow managed drag the two boys into the house, despite how crowded the front lawn itself was. It seemed like every teen in Denver was there. Once inside, Kyle was greeted by a boy in a dark blue t-shirt, a boy with messy blonde hair hanging off of him lazily. "Jesus, Broflovski." He said in a surprisingly monotone voice. "Are you wearing eye shadow? God, you're so gay."

Stan expected Kyle to be upset by the comment, but instead he just rolled his eyes and slapped his arm playfully. "You're one to talk, Craig. At least I'm not pounding Tweek's ass."

"Don't knock it till you try it." The boy, Craig, says simply. He glances listlessly at Stan and Kenny. "Who are these assholes?"

"That's Stan and Kenny. They're from South Park."

"N-nice to meet you." The blonde said politely, still very much wrapped around Craig. There was dried blood around his nose and his pupils were fucking huge. He was definitely on something. "I'm Tweek."

"You're fucking what?" Kenny said, sounding somewhere in the range between flabbergasted and amused. 

"It's his name." Kyle explains. "His last name, too. His parents are assholes."

Craig pulls Tweek somehow even closer to him. "At least his name isn't fucking Kyle."

Kyle laughs at this, rolling his eyes. "Great comeback. So original. You're a hoot, Craig. Where's Bebe?"

"In the kitchen. Nice meeting you guys, I guess." Craig says before wandering away with Tweek in tow. Kyle starts heading in the opposite direction, and Stan notices just in time to grab Kenny by his wrist and pull him along to catch up. Kyle leads them into an open kitchen, where Bebe is sitting on the counter next to an array of liquor bottles, sipping from a solo cup as she talks with the girl in front of her.

"You look sexy." Kyle says teasingly, and Bebe giggles at that.

"I could say the same for you. You brought guests?" She said, motioning towards Kenny, who was already making himself some drink with lots of vodka in it, and Stan, who was standing awkwardly behind Kyle. It's not that he never went to parties, they just weren't really his thing, and he had no idea what to do.

"Yup." Kyle says, popping the 'p', "You remember Stan and Kenny, right?"

Bebe shoots Stan a subtly dangerous look, and he waves back uncomfortably. Bebe is scary, when you're the one on the other end of her icy gaze. "Cool. Nice to see you guys again."

"The pleasure is all mine." Kenny responds, clearly oblivious to the mounting tension, taking a swig from the cup. Stan can smell whatever's in it from where he's standing, nose crinkling slightly.

"Aw, sick, dude. What did you put in that?"

Kenny shrugs. "Little bit of everything. It tastes awful. Figure it'll get me drunk though."

"Make me one?" Stan asks pleadingly, pulling out his puppy dog eyes, but Kenny only flips him off.

"Fuck no. You're a recovering alcoholic."

"Don't be such a conformist asshole, Kenny. I'm not an alcoholic." Stan sighs, taking notice of the way Kyle bites his lip in an unreadable emotion. Concern? Anger? Who the fuck knows.

"No drinking." Kenny says, pointing a finger in Stan's face. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go see if I can find some of whatever that Tweek dude was on."

As soon as Kenny's gone, Stan grabs himself a cup, working quickly to make himself a vodka lemonade. Kyle seems pensive beside him. "Are you sure it's ok if you drink, dude?" He asks.

"Jesus, why does everyone keep asking me that. I'm a big boy. I can handle myself." He says with a reassuring smile, though he's not sure how reassuring it really is, before chugging half his drink.

Kyle tucks a stray curl which had somehow avoided the gel behind his ear, wrapping his arms around himself and nodding unconvincingly. "Yeah, ok. If you say so."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jew?" A whiny voice demands. Stan turn towards the source of the voice, a tall, chubby boy with wiry brown hair. His eyes have a wild glint to them that makes Stan feel slightly uneasy, and his nose sits slightly crooked on his face. Kyle groans.

"What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here, fatass?" Kyle shoots back.

"I'm not fat, I'm big boned." The boy booms, before looking passingly at Stan. "What the fuck is this faggy goth kid looking at?"

"Go fuck yourself, I'm not the faggy one here." Stan snaps, and he hears Kyle snort beside him, turning to look at the redhead.

"Stan, this is the wretched Eric Cartman." Kyle says, gesturing at the glowering boy adjacent to him.

Stan blinks in surprise. "THE Cartman?"

Kyle nods in confirmation, and Cartman looks indignant. "What the fuck? What has this Jewrat been saying about me?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that you're a racist and anti-semitic loser." Stan looks to Kyle, trying to keep his grin at bay. "You didn't tell me that he was obviously gay."

Kyle doubles over in laughter as Cartman shouts at both of them. "No I'm fucking not! Screw you guys! Fuck you, you filthy Jew, and your loser boyfriend!"

This sets off a whole new round of laughter in Kyle, and Bebe giggles sparingly, covering her smile with her hand. Stan can practically see steam exploding from Cartman's ears, the boy storming away angrily. Kyle eventually manages to stop laughing, swiping at his eyes. "God, what a baby."

"I can't believe you broke his nose." Stan says, already finished with his first drink and concocting his second. The atmosphere feels easier to talk in than it did only minutes ago.

"It wasn't hard. He cried like a little bitch about it, though. Just like he did when I broke his wrist freshman year."

"Woah, what?" Stan says, laughing slightly. 

"Yeah, the asshole wouldn't stop trying to pants me at school. It was seriously like, sexual harassment or something. So I broke his wrist."

"This little rivalry has been going on forever." Bebe tells Stan, seeming to have warmed up to him in the last five minutes. "Literally, on Kyle's first day at our school Cartman called him a pig fucker."

"That was still so uncalled for. I hadn't even said anything to him."

Bebe fusses with her perfectly-styled blonde curls. "Yeah, but that's just Cartman. You know that."

"Yeah, well, Cartman seems like an asshole. I'm glad you punched him in the face, but next time I'd suggest a swift kick where the sun don't shine."

"Well, you phrased it like an old southern grandma, but yeah, what he said." Bebe agrees, cheeks flushed pink from laughing.

"Well, you never know." Kyle says, with a spirited glance in Stan's direction. "The night is still young."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is overly dramatic, so prepare yourselves mentally


	7. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: underage drinking, strong language (for a good portion of this chapter the word 'fuck ' appears at least once a sentence)
> 
> also, be warned, Stan is a massive jerk in this chapter

Kyle realizes that he should have stopped Stan hours ago, when he was only on his third or fourth drink and had a chance of sobering up before the party got too crazy. Kyle also realizes that he should have stopped him before he even had his first drink, because no matter what Stan says, he's definitely a stubborn drunk. Finally Kyle realizes that this whole hindsight thing is doing him no good, because he didn't actually stop Stan, and now his friend is absolutely hammered.

Stan has been back and forth between the bar and wherever Kyle is for a while now, and Kyle isn't sure how much he's had to drink. He figures it's not enough to kill him, since he's still walking around and talking, but his words are slurred and his actions are heavy. He'd thought briefly of going to get Kenny, but that plan is proved pointless when Kenny stumbles out of Bebe's guest room just as Kyle starts looking for him.

"Heeeey. It's my main man's main man." Kenny giggles at his own joke, cheeks flushed pleasantly pink. "What ya been up to, Kyley?" 

Kyle does a double take when he can smell the vodka drifting from his breath. "Kenny, are you... are you wasted?"

"Little bit." Kenny says in what was obviously supposed to be a whisper, pinching his thumb and index finger together. "Stan's not the only asshole around here who gets to be drunk off his ass."

"Ok, well. Stan actually is. Drunk, I mean. Thought you might want to know."

Kenny shrugs. "Whatever. He's not my responsibility." He slurs, leaning a little close to Kyle for comfort, to the point that he can smell a light dusting of cigarette smoke caught in the fibers of his jacket. "I've tried to tell him that he is my responsibility, cuz I care about him, ya know? But he won't let anyone care. Not me, not you. Nobody. Too 'fraid to disappoint."

Kenny leans back a little, so that he's not directly in Kyle's face, before speaking again. "I'll get him sober one day. You mark my word."

With that, Kenny takes off in the direction of the kitchen, presumably to get another drink, and almost as soon as he's gone Stan materializes from out of nowhere, making Kyle jump ten feet out of his skin. Seriously, why was he the one stuck talking to all these drunken bastards?

"Kyle. Come dance with me." Stan whines, directing a precious little pout at Kyle, whose stomach starts doing cartwheels against his will. 

"I thought dancing was too conformist." Kyle teases, biting the inside of his cheek. "Plus, it's really fucking gay, dude."

Stan huffs with enough gusto to blow his bangs out of his face, which aren't really bangs so much as overgrown strands of raven hair, just long enough to fall fittingly over ocean eyes. "So? I'm super fucking gay. Dance with me."

"As much as I would love to, you're in no condition to be dancing with anyone right now. You should probably lay down, actually." Kyle looks over his friend, who is swaying slightly as he stands in place.

Stan pouts even harder. "Don't wanna. I just want you to dance with me. Not gonna stop harassing you till you say yes."

Kyle sighs, figuring it will be easier to just cave in now. "Fine. One song. And don't expect me to actually dance, either. I'm not letting the both of us make fools out of ourselves."

Stan looks like he's just won the lottery. "You are not gonna regret this!" He exclaims, dragging Kyle unsteadily towards the living room where a large number of people are dancing wildly.

Kyle allows himself to be pulled into the swarm of drunk teenagers, bumping into Stan's back after being knocked into by someone moving carelessly. Stan turns around and grins at him, running a hand through his hair. He starts to move with the beat of the song that's blasting through the speakers, and his movement is heavy and sloppy, but it's very Stan. Kyle smiles absently at the thought.

Only a few seconds in and Stan has managed to lose himself in the music. Kyle giggles warmly, watching Stan flail around like an idiot, and it can hardly even be considered dancing, but it's a sweet moment. So sweet, even, that Kyle doesn't protest when Stan pulls him closer by his wrist, all but forcing him to jump around in time with him.

There's laughter and sunny smiles, and Kyle even manages to spin Stan, who just giggles like a little kid being told a knock-knock joke. Kyle forgets, very briefly, that he can't have Stan, and that they're simply just friends. The moment is just so perfect. Of course, it is until Stan miscalculates one of his steps, tripping over his feet and crashing face-first into a wall. "Shit!" Kyle mutters under his breath, bending over to where Stan is now splayed on the floor, being danced around as if he weren't even there.

"That shit hurts." Stan says, clutching his nose. Kyle tries not to laugh, finding the situation just a little funny. Just a little.

"You're an idiot." Kyle says fondly. "Did you break anything?"

Stan shakes his head. "Nope. I'm all good." He removes his hand from his nose, revealing a mess of crimson blood smeared across his hands and face. Kyle gasps.

"Jesus, Stan. You really are a fucking idiot. You're gonna bleed on Bebe's god damn carpet, you dildo."

Stan starts laughing at that."Oops."

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up." Kyle offers Stan his hand, using all of his force to pull up the boy. Stan stands on wobbling legs, still laughing his ass off, and allows Kyle to drag him to the nearest bathroom.

Kyle sits Stan down on the toilet lid, instructing him to tilt his head back and pinch his nose before searching through the cabinets for something to use to clean up the drunken idiot. Stan waits patiently, tracing shapes with his eyes in the bathroom ceiling. Eventually, Kyle retrieves some cotton pads, wiping away the excess blood as he sits on edge of the bathtub. He apologizes when Stan winces, being reassured that it's fine.

He finishes tending to stupid Stan's stupid nose, doing the best he could considering he had no idea what he was doing. He throws his bloody materials away, looking back to see Stan staring at him with a starry gaze.

"What?" Kyle asks, knitting his brows together. Stan just shrugs with a dopey grin.

"You're pretty, Kyle. Really pretty."

Kyle blushes, looking down at his shoes against the sterile white of the bathroom floor. "Stan." He says, almost pleadingly. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Stan slurs in response. "Tell you you're pretty?"

"Just. Don't act like nothing you say matters. Because it does. It really does, ok?" Kyle's never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. He feels a gentle hand take hold of his own, and looks up to see Stan still looking at him like he is God's gift to this world. Before Kyle can even say anything else, Stan leans in, kissing him deeply.

Kyle is still for a moment, before allowing himself to dissolve into the kiss. He knows he shouldn't, there are things to think about, but he can think about them after Stan's lips are gone, along with the fluttering in his chest. 

Kyle kisses him lazily, feeling like the luckiest boy in the world. He wants to just stay here, in this bathroom, with music drifting faintly through the door. He wants to stay here kissing Stan for forever and a day. He wants STAN for forever and a day. He wants Stan to be his. And that's the thought that makes him pull away with all the urgency in the world. "What's wrong?" Stan asks, still leaning into his space.

Kyle shakes his head. "Stan, I don't wanna do this if it's just a kiss again."

"What are you talking about?" Stan is visibly confused now. Kyle's response is blocked by a knock on the door. He groans.

"Occupied!"

"Stop hogging the bathroom you stupid Jew!" Cartman shouts from the other side of the door, knocking loudly. Kyle sighs, getting up to go unlock it when Stan grabs his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. 

"Kyle, I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

And Kyle knows deep down that Stan is drunk, and a little hurt, and he isn't in complete control of what he says, but the words make his eye twitch and he can still feel Stan gripping his arm. "Did you do something wrong? Oh, that's fucking rich, Stan."

Another round of knocks comes from the other side of the bathroom door. "Kahl! Stop being a bitch! I have to take a piss!"

"Take a piss somewhere else!" Kyle snarls, yanking his arm away from Stan, who is now staring at Kyle with eyes as wide as saucers. 

"Kyle." He says, sounding slightly more sober than he did a moment ago. "What did I do?"

"What did you do?" Kyle repeats mockingly. He's trying to keep his emotions in check, but it's really fucking hard when Stan is acting like a prick and he can still hear Cartman banging on the door. "God, Stan. I don't know. What do you think you did? Hm?"

"I-I don't know. Just tell me." Stan sputters, and Kyle laughs humorlessly at that.

"Open the door, you stupid Jew! What are you even doing in there?"

"I'll fucking tell you what you did Stan." Kyle ignores Cartman, voice raising as he tries to rein in his anger. "You fucking kissed me, you prick. And then you told me I could never kiss you again, only to come in here and act like none of it ever fucking happened!"

"Open the fucking door!"

"Cartman, I swear to fuck I will bust your god damn kneecaps if you don't leave me alone!"

Cartman only knocks harder, calling out obscenities, as Stan stares at Kyle in pure shock, an expression that slowly leaks to a confused display of anger. "Woah, hold on. You're mad about me kissing you last Friday?"

"No, Stanley! I'm mad about you leading me on, you asshole!" He shouts, still ignoring Cartman's incessant knocking. 

Stan scoffs. "I never lead you on. I told you I didn't want a relationship."

"And then you fucking dragged me in here and kissed me!"

Stan's face is bright red now, and he appears to be almost as angry as Kyle, both of their eyes filled with warning. "First of all, you dragged me in here, not the other way around!"

"I was helping you with your bloody nose that you got because you're fucking drunk! This wasn't some ploy to get you to make out with me! You did that all on your own, because whether you want to admit it or not, you wanna fucking be with me! And that scares you because you're a little pussy!"

Kyle knows he's pushing some buttons that aren't even meant to be pushed, but he couldn't care less. He's full to the brim of pent up energy, barely even registering that Cartman is still pounding on the fucking door for some reason. He can only see Stan's face, speeding from angry to hurt back to angry in record time. He stomps his foot like a petulant child.

"I don't know what you fucking want from me, Kyle! I'm doing my best here! I'm trying to save you the trouble of having to suffer me! I care about you-"

"If you cared about me at all you would have just asked what I fucking want!" Kyle is crying at this point, hot, angry tears flowing freely down his cheeks, but he doesn't even care. "You like to think you're thinking about my feelings, but you're not! You're too busy with your fucking victim complex, so you just assume I'm perfectly fine with you fucking my heart to pieces and then running off into the sunset! Well, I'm fucking not! And you're a selfish, alcoholic asshole!"

Stan watches uneasily for a moment, Kyle sobbing in defeat, arms wrapped around himself protectively, as if Stan will just reach out and crush his heart again. Stan opens his mouth to speak, but is stopped short by a lethal look shot directly at him. "Get the fuck out!" Kyle orders in such a way that Stan doesn't even think to argue.

He huffs, moving towards the door and yanking it open before fleeing. He almost runs full force into Cartman, who is still waiting at the bathroom door for some god forsaken reason.

"Well, it's about time, Jew. I've been out here forever." He turns to look at Kyle, who is quite literally heaving with rage, tears still spilling over his cheeks. 

"What the fuck are you staring at, fatass!" He snaps, wiping angrily at his eyes.

"Dude." Cartman snickers. "You're such a fucking crybaby. What, did you get into a fight with your emo boyfriend?"

Kyle rolls his watery eyes, still wiping furiously at his cheeks. In a voice so small it's barely a whisper, "He is not my fucking boyfriend."

Cartman feels a little uneasy at this. He's seen Kyle cry, maybe once. Over something he'd said of course. Even then he'd been screaming, hurtling insults back at him like it was the only thing he knew how to do. This isn't the same Kyle that stabbed him with a fork for saying his mom had crabs. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?" And then, tentatively, "Dude? You cool?"

"Don't fucking talk to me you sack of shit." Kyle growls, pushing past Cartman and weaving through the crowd. He didn't care that he was still crying, or that everyone was looking between him and Stan, who was looking around desperately for something, as if they knew what happened. He only cared that he was angry. Fucking enraged. He stomps to the kitchen, making a beeline for the bar. 

Kyle pours himself a shot of tequila. Downs it. Another, and another, and another, until he can't remember what number he's on, and that's probably not a good thing, but he's starting to feel better, the alcohol settling into his senses thickly. He thinks in passing that he understands what Stan means, about feeling better, happier, when he drinks, but then remembers with a scowl that he doesn't wanna think about Stan and takes another shot.

When his senses are pleasantly dulled and his cheeks are dry, he decides to leave the kitchen, intending to head for the living room but instead being grabbed by someone. "Kyle." Kenny shouts merrily, and he looks just as drunk as the last time Kyle saw him. 

Kyle looks across the room, and makes eye contact with Stan. It's fire on ice, Kyle staring him down with the rage of a thousand fires, Kenny still clinging to him drunkenly, and Stan with the the look of a lost little boy, trembling lip and all, looking like he was about ready to apologize for the rest of his life. Maybe he was, and maybe that's what he was going to say, when he started making his way towards Kyle. But Kyle wasn't ready for that. He didn't want to talk to him. He didn't want to hear an apology or argument or what-fucking-ever. Kyle wanted revenge.

And so, as Stan crossed the room, still looking him dead in the eye, he didn't think of anything but the lingering taste of tequila on his tongue and the hot, satisfying anger he was feeling, making him see red. And thinking of only these things, he maintained eye contact for one more scorching millisecond, before turning his head-

and planting a fat fucking kiss on Kenny's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw I just started school again so updates might be a little wack until I get used to the schedule. Have faith in me!!


	8. Teenage Whore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of underage sexuality, mentions of alcoholism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, unedited, and I wrote it at two in the morning. It's also dramatic as fuck, naturally. Please accept this.

To say that Stan was furious would simply be incorrect. No, as he sat in the circle of emotionally wrecked teenagers, glaring at the boy sitting across from him, he was more than furious. He was brimming with white, hot, blind, insidious rage. He was positively seething, and if the nasty glare he was receiving from Kyle told him anything, he was feeling much the same way. 

Stan knew he had been a dick at the party. He hadn't meant to lead Kyle on, but it's what he ended up doing, and he only realized after leaving the intense scene in the bathroom that he'd been in the wrong. He deserved to be screamed at, blocked, probably even slapped. He'd been a jerk, and was on his way to apologize. And though he didn't fully expect Kyle to accept his apology, or really even listen to it, he absolutely hadn't expected Kyle to look him dead in the eyes before shoving his tongue down Kenny's throat. 

Oh, and as if that wasn't bad enough, Kenny had fucking kissed him back. It would have been one thing for Kyle to make out with some dude in some petty attempt at revenge, but for Kenny, who Stan had known since diapers and who had listened for hours as Stan had babbled on about how scared he was of how fast he was falling for Kyle. For Kenny to make out with the redhead was a whole new level of heartbreak-induced rage that Stan could barely even comprehend.

Stan knew he had been an asshole. It had been all he'd thought about as he watched Kyle and Kenny tug each other drunkenly towards one of the bedrooms, all he'd thought about as he ran from the house, walking about ten miles before calling Wendy in tears and begging her to come get him. Stan knew he had been a selfish piece of shit, but at least, he thought to himself as he ignored Kenny's calls all weekend, at least he hadn't fucked Kyle's best friend.

And now as he sits in group therapy staring down Kyle and blocking out whatever Dr. Sanderson is saying about effective communication skills, he doesn't know anything but the white, hot, blind, insidious rage that consumes him.

"Alright, let's try some role playing exercises." Dr. Sanderson says, blatantly ignoring the tension in the room that everyone else can feel, looking between the two boys who look about three seconds away from lunging at each other's throats. "Henrietta and Aaron, you two can start us off. Let's do a scenario where Aaron is a friend who keeps taking things from Henrietta without asking. How would you two communicate properly? Henrietta, you start."

Both of the teens stand up, looking extremely bored, both rolling their eyes. Everyone in the group collectively agreed that role playing activities were the worst. Henrietta sighs. "Aaron, please stop taking my things without asking. It makes me feel bad." She says monotonously. 

"I'm sorry. I'll stop." Aaron replies in a very similar manner, and they both take their seats again.

"Very good!" Dr. Sanderson chirps, clearly not reading the room. "Very good, indeed. Ok, next let's try... Stan and- Kyle."

"No thanks." Kyle spits, still glaring at Stan.

"It's a good thing I wasn't asking. Stan, Kyle, up, now. For this scene you'll be two friends who have experienced a falling-out. How do you go about communicating that you're sorry? Stan. Start us off."

Stan stands reluctantly, and he can see Kyle clench his jaw before standing as well, keeping a safe distance from him. Stan clears his throat, trying and failing to ease some of the tension. "Kyle. I'm sorry." He says robotically. 

"Stan, would you mind being a little less vague with your apology?" Dr. Sanderson interjected. "Keep it simple, but not that simple."

Stan crosses his arms. "I'm sorry, Kyle, for hurting your feelings."

"Oh, I'm sure you're real sorry." Kyle sneers, and everyone sitting around them visibly perks up at his tone, eager for drama that isn't their own.

"Yes, actually, I am." Stan says through gritted teeth. "Which you would know, by the way, if you would listen to me."

"What's there to listen to? You whining about how hard you are to be around? Trust me, we're all well aware."

"Ok, boys, I think this is all a little counterproductive. Why don't we try to steer the conversation towards a more positive route? Or, if you'd like, you can just have a seat." Dr. Sanderson seems to only now be realizing her mistake.

"Actually, Kyle, I'd like to know what you mean by that." Stan says defiantly. "You know, I seem to recall you being real friendly with me, so I'd like to know why I'm annoying all of a sudden."

"Well, I think you know why. Especially considering I've already told you. You're being a selfish brat. Simple, really."

"Boys." Dr. Sanderson says firmly, in an attempt to regain control of the situation, but she is swiftly ignored.

"Oh, whatever, Kyle! I'm selfish. News flash, everybody is. Everybody is a narcissist. It's human nature. You're selfish, too, but you're too much of a hypocrite to admit it."

Kyle looks livid. "Excellent observation, professor. I'm a hypocrite, huh? Well, I'll tell you what, Stanley Marsh. I'd much rather be a selfish hypocrite than an alcoholic with daddy issues!"

"Well, at least I'm not the fucking whore who slept with Kenny!"

"Boys!" Dr. Sanderson, all but screams, finally capturing their attention. She's standing now, face flushed red. "Go out in the hallway! Now!"

The two fiery teens stomp out of the room, Dr. Sanderson following close behind and slamming the door, isolating them from the group of confused faces they'd left behind. She folds her arms over her chest, looking between the two with her lips pressed into a thin line. "What on god's green earth is going on here?"

"I'll tell you what's going on. Stan is a self-obsessed jerk who doesn't care about anyone's feelings but his own."

"Oh, yeah, go ahead and act like I'm the only jerk when you're the one wh-"

"Stop it. Both of you, stop." Dr. Sanderson looks winded, eyes wide. "You two are acting like small children. Now, it is quite literally my job to help you sort out your emotions but I can't do that if you don't tell me what is actually going on. Now, Kyle. What started all this?"

Kyle is silent for a moment, digging the toe of his boot into the carpet. He clears his throat, looking at the thinly painted wall behind her head. "Stan, uh... Stan kissed me."

"Ok. And why did that upset you?"

"It didn't." Kyle struggles to explain. "I actually started it. I liked it." His cheeks are burning as he continues. "The problem wasn't the kiss. It was that Stan kissed back and then like, told me he didn't wanna kiss me again. And then he did kiss me again."

Stan is glaring at the floor. "I didn't mean to. Well, like, I guess I did. But it wasn't my intention. I'm sorry. I know it was hurtful, and wrong, and I'm really sorry, Kyle."

"That's very good, Stan." Dr. Sanderson says after a beat. "The thing I don't get, though, is why you're both mad. And somebody mentioned a Kenny? Who the hell is Kenny?"

"He's my best friend." Stan says, before letting out a shaky sob that has both Dr. Sanderson and Kyle looking at him in alarm. 

"What does Kenny have to do with this?" Dr. Sanderson wonders as Stan tries to soothe himself, Kyle eyeing him warily. 

"Kyle had sex with him."

"Oh."

A moment of silence passes before Kyle speaks. "I didn't, uh, actually want to. I was just mad at you. Really mad. God, you're such a jerk sometimes, you know that?"

"I know."

"Yeah, I know you know." Kyle pauses for a moment. "God, it just hurts, you know? Like, Stan. I really do like you. And it hurts so much when I'm so close to knowing you like me too only for you to act like it's a great crime to kiss me. And I shouldn't have slept with Kenny. But you... you hurt me."

Stan makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "I know. I know, Kyle. I'm so so sorry. I do like you. A lot. But I'm just... I don't want to hurt you."

Kyle finally looks at him, looking tired. "But you already have."

Stan nods in defeat. "Exactly. I already have."

Dr. Sanderson looks between the two of them, sighing. "I think I really do need to work more with the both of you on your communication skills."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I know this isn't how therapists talk, but every therapist I've ever had has been shit so I'm really just doing my best


	9. Gum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not been updating as regularly as usual!!! I'm getting used to the new schedule with school starting again, and I was going to update yesterday but I got busy! Please don't be mad.

Stan had been successfully avoiding going to group for a few weeks now, and hadn't been back since his blowout. The Wednesday after it had happened, he had pretended to be sick to get out of going. After that, he had offered to drive himself, instead driving halfway to North Park and biding his time in some shitty cafe. Just last week he hadn't even bothered leaving the house. 

It was now Tuesday, and he had been trying to devise a plan to get out of this week's session when the sound of the doorbell cut through the house, followed shortly by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and his bedroom door opening. Stan turned to see who it was, lip curling into a sneer. "Get out."

Kenny stood by the door, wringing his hands nervously. Stan hadn't seen him since the party, and he looked tired. "Dude. Can we please just talk?"

"I don't wanna talk to you, fucking conformist asshole." Stan said simply, pointedly refusing to meet his eye. Kenny sighed.

"Yes, ok. I know I'm an asshole, you don't have to tell me. Look, I don't wanna fight. I just... I miss you. And I wanna talk to you. Please?"

Any other day, Stan would have sent him away without a second thought. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he just deflated, moving to sit up on his bed. "Close the door."

Kenny closed it, coming to sit next to Stan on the bed but seeming to think better of it at the last moment. He stood awkwardly at the side of the bed, and a moment of silence passes before Kenny gives Stan a quizzical stare, wrinkling his nose. "Dude. Have you been drinking?" His voice was laced with anger, which made Stan fucking irate, because what right did he have to be angry? "Don't even bother trying to lie to me, either, this whole room reeks of vodka."

"So what if I am? Why do you care?" Stan snapped.

"Why do I- Jesus, Stanley, I dunno. Maybe because you're my friend and I care about you?"

"Oh, yeah. You sure did show me how much you care when you fucked Kyle."

Kenny's face fell, and he looked like he'd been half-expecting Stan to forget about that. As fucking if. "Stan. Fuck, I am so sorry. I was drunk, and I made a mistake. I mean, you get that, right? You've done so much fucked up shit when you're drunk."

"I may be a bastard, but I have never, ever done anything like that to you, and you know it."

"I know." Kenny stared down at the carpet. "Anyway, I didn't expect you to forgive me. That's not why I'm here. Kyle called me."

Stan laughed humorlessly. "Oh, that's just what I wanted to hear. Is that why you came here? To gloat? Fucking seriously, Kenny, I didn't expect that from you, but I guess I didn't expect you to put your dick in the guy I like, either. You're just full of surprises."

"Jesus, it's not like that. I gave him my number ages ago, when we first met, so we could keep in contact. But he... he's worried about you, dude."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Worried? About me? Really, Kenny. You could not have picked a worse lie."

"I'm not lying!" Kenny defended. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flashed momentarily with hurt. "Fucking, seriously. Stop being mad at me for five seconds so I can talk. Kyle says you haven't been going to therapy recently. Is that true?"

Stan shot him the nastiest glare he could muster up. "What do you fucking think, Kenny?"

"I think you're being an asshole." Kenny snarled. "I get that you're butt hurt about me sleeping with Kyle, but you have to go to therapy."

"Or what?"

Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose, making a frustrated noise. "Or I'm gonna tell your fucking mom you've been drinking again and she's gonna send your ass back to rehab."

Blind fear rushed through Stan's senses, heart dropping into his stomach. "You can't."

"Jesus Christ, Stan! Look at yourself! You have a problem, ok? You need help." Kenny looked so upset that it made Stan sick.

"How many time do I have to tell you? I don't have a problem."

Kenny sighed, giving up all reasoning and dropping down to sit beside Stan. "Stan. I know I hurt you. I know I hurt you bad. But you're still my best friend. And I still love you. Even if you hate me."

Stan stared noncommittally at a random stain on his carpet. "I don't hate you. I'm still really fucking mad at you, but. I don't hate you."

"Ok." Kenny said. "So what I need you to do, is get your ass back into gear. You're gonna get better. I know you are. And you're gonna stop drinking. But first. You're gonna call Kyle."

Stan took a deep breath, before nodding. Yeah. He was gonna call Kyle.


	10. My Dude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is!! The final chapter, long overdue!!! Completely got burned out on this fic and didn't know where I was going with it so accept this bullshit.

Stan didn't call Kyle for another two days after his conversation with Kenny.

When he finally does, it's the middle of the afternoon and he feels like he's going to literally burst if he spends any more time debating whether or not he should talk to Kyle. Frustrated with himself, he finally just snaps up the phone, pressing the call button before he can even think to change his mind.

Kyle picks up on the second ring. "Hello?" He says. He sounds the perfect amount of upset. 

"Hey, it's Stan."

"Yeah, I know it's Stan, dipshit, I have caller ID." Stan bites his lip, and hears Kyle sigh on the other side of the line. "Sorry. That was unnecessarily mean. Um- I guess you're calling because Kenny talked to you?"

"Yeah. You know, you could have just called me yourself."

"I know. But like, would you have answered."

Yes. "Probably not." Stan says, laying back on his bed. The whole conversation feels heavy, and he almost feels like he can't breathe. 

Stan hears Kyle shifting, and tries to imagine what he looks like. "Why haven't you been coming to group?"

"Oh, you know. I made a fool of myself in front of everyone. The usual."

Kyle laughs breathily, and Stan interprets that as a good sign. "Yeah, I guess I know what you mean. You... have you been drinking? I mean, like, I know ya have, but I thought I should ask anyway."

"Yeah." Stan's voice cracks. "Yeah, sorry."

"Jesus, what are you sorry for?"

"I called you a whore."

Kyle sighs again. "I've been called a lot worse."

"You're not a whore, Kyle. I only said that because I was mad. But you're not a whore."

"Stan, relax. I don't care about that. You're still a dick, though."

"Yeah, I know."

There's a lull in the conversation where neither of them know what to say. Finally, Kyle asks "Do you wanna meet up and talk?"

///

They end up at some shitty coffee shop halfway, sitting at a some table and staring pensively at each other. Stan sips at his black coffee, resisting the urge to pull a face. He's never liked the taste of plain black coffee, but he'd learned by now how to suffer through it after years of hanging with Henrietta. 

Kyle clears his throughout, making Stan look up. "So... did I drive all the way out here to talk to you or just to watch you mope?"

"I'm not moping." Stan says, although he's aware that he is, in fact, moping. He can't help it, though. "Sorry. Um... we can talk."

"I'm sorry for hooking up with Kenny." Kyle says. He's talking confidently and it's a mix between heartening and terrifying. "I know that it messed with you. That's actually why I did it. To mess with you. Which was wrong, but..." He shrugged. "But I felt like it was what you deserved. You were right, I'm a whore."

"Dude, no you're not."

A small smile tugged at Kyle's lips. "Don't. I don't say it in a self-deprecating way. Nothing wrong with being a whore."

Stan huffs amusedly, stomach still churning. "I'm still sorry about saying it. And, you know, everything else. It's just that I do actually really like you. Like, a lot. And I'm also a shitty person and a stubborn drunk. So, I dunno. I guess I thought I was protecting you from myself. Stupid, huh?"

"Incredibly stupid." Kyle says, now smiling genuinely. "But I don't think you're a shitty person. At least, not fully. And I know we're pretty fucked up and dysfunctional and we're not even together, but I really like you, too. Ya know?"

Stan nods. "Um... cool."

"You're hopeless." Kyle says, and Stan can feel himself blushing. "I mean, if you're a fucked up loser with feelings for me, and I'm a fucked up loser with feelings for you, we might as well do something about."

Stan laughs. "You're not a fucked up loser, dude."

"Don't call me dude, I'm trying to ask you to stop freaking out and be my boyfriend."

Stan's smile freezes on his face. "Shit. Seriously?"

"Jesus, Stan, yes! I mean, obviously if you're not digging it we can still be friends. But no point in having feelings if we don't put them to good use, ya know?"

"But... you just said we're dysfunctional."

"So we can work on that." Kyle looks almost small sitting in front of him, flashing Stan a quick grin. "Only if you want to."

"No, I... I do."

"Kay. Well then, you have to go back to therapy."

Stan groans, but his cheeks are still painted pink. "Jesus, ok, mom."

"And you have to forgive Kenny. I mean, he was basically just a pawn in my plan to be a total dick to you."

"Yeah, yeah. Deal."

"Ok." Kyle says. "Well then, it looks like you've got yourself a boyfriend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a SHITTY ending, but still, I love you all and hope you enjoyed


End file.
